


gravity can't forget

by Lizzen



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Bucky Barnes as Captain America, F/M, Shuri as Black Panther, Surprise Guests - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-03-20 23:34:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13728384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizzen/pseuds/Lizzen
Summary: It’s been ten years since the day her brother took the crown and the official mantle of the Black Panther. Both honors are hers now, and each sit uneasily. She finds herself busier than ever; ruling a country, aiding others, ignoring the calls of the earth’s mightiest heroes.And there’s a loneliness, sharp and unwieldy, in it. An emptiness longing to be filled.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to th_esaurus. This was not a pairing I saw coming and now I’m obsessed.

It’s been ten years since the day her brother took the crown and the official mantle of the Black Panther. Both honors are hers now, and each sit uneasily. As does T’Challa’s state; comatose in her lab thanks to Doctor Doom’s nanites. He’ll survive it, she knows, but there’s no certainty as to _when_ his eyes will open. When he will smile at her again. 

And so she finds herself busier than ever; ruling a country, aiding others, ignoring the calls of the earth’s mightiest heroes. 

And so she finds herself alone. 

There’s a loneliness, sharp and unwieldy, in it all. An emptiness longing to be filled. She better understands her brother and his passions, his distractions, and his loves.

*  
M’Baku hasn’t been to council in years, but he arrives with an entourage on a sumptuous summer’s day. Finds his long-empty chair and sits lazily on it as if he’s never left. Listens actively, says little. His eyes hardly leave her face, and she finds her cheek burning from it. A betrayal that displeases her, but she’s learned that she cannot control all things. Sometimes flowers grow in a burned field. 

After, she touches his arm. “We’ve missed you.” She believes in speaking the truth. He gives her a careful, appraising look before nodding. 

He steps close, close enough that she can tell the Dora are tense. Close enough that she can feel his body heat. “I’m here now,” he says softly. “Try and get rid of me.”

She’s so small next to him, and she feels it. The bulk of him. There’s a shiver that starts in her lower back and radiates outward. “I have no interest in doing so,” she replies. “Your presence pleases me.” 

“Mmm,” he says vaguely and moves away. She feels his absence acutely long after. 

*  
If she’s being honest, she saw this coming the first time she laid eyes on him: all painted and brutal. Threatening what was hers. Something deep had twisted inside of her, a reminder that desire doesn’t always make the kind sense that science does.

*  
He attends a formal dinner, and as he is Jabari, protocol places him at her right hand. At her left is a visiting Asgardian, curious to share knowledge. She finds herself divided in the conversation. Science being her passion, and M’Baku being newly in the forefront of her interests. Breathing in through a mess of professional and personal inclinations, she considers that what she wants is different than what she needs. 

“Tell me what you know about nanites,” she asks the Asgardian and ignores M’Baku for the rest of the evening. 

*  
He touches her hand after, and she feels a white hot burn where his fingers meet her skin. “Spar with me tomorrow. I need to know the mettle of my new queen.” 

Her mouth opens if just to breathe and then she smiles up at him. “If you wish,” she says as nonchalantly as she can. Her skin feels electric, radiating out from where his skin meets hers.

The grip on her hand tightens, and he lifts it to his mouth. Kisses her wrist lightly. Her knees feel painfully watery and she tightens her jaw. Furious at being this soft in the face of flattery. She pulls her hand away and spins on her heels.

If Okoye throws her a knowing glance, Shuri pretends she never saw it.

*  
That night, she takes to her bed and finds herself wet and needy between her legs. It’s a furious cacophony of her standard fantasies that she relies on to find completion there in the dark alone. She refuses to think on his face, the curve of his arms, the strength in his hands. How her legs would twine around his. The heat of his kiss and the low chuckle in his throat. No, no, she thinks. Thinks of the usual face and arm that surrounds her when she’s in need of personal intimacy. Dark hair and blue eyes. A weakness she’s had for years. 

And yet, just before she comes, she thinks of how her skin will be pressed against his in the morning. The thought of her thighs around his neck in a merciless chokehold. A violence ensuring connection. And that’s when she sees stars.

*  
She stands ready for him, her powers electric within her. They choose weapons; a staff for him and two long knives for her. Her Dora Milaje stand in shadows around them despite her pleading that they disperse, leaving her alone with the head of a once apostate tribe. With a man who challenged the king once. 

With a man twice her size.

In all seriousness, it would be easy to put him down in her suit, but she stands in simple dress like him. And with the herb flowing through her, it _will_ be easy to put him down but she will do her best to offer a real challenge for him. Allow him hope. 

Shuri adjusts her stance and readies herself for this to be punishing but fruitful. 

In moments, when she’s straddling him with her knife over his heart, she really does feel punished. This strange familiarity; this heady desire inside of her to do battle in a holistically different manner. Hesitating, she loses ground and he flips her on her back, his hands at her throat. His presence is all around her, his muscle taunt against hers. She could lie here, and let him remain, but failure, no matter the cost, is not her style.

Panther-blessed, she’s able to evade him, and the fight restarts. And she shows him no mercy. 

*  
After, she heals him in her lab and lifts her hand sharply to shush him when he asks her to stop, to heal on his own terms. “You do as your queen commands,” she says and with only a touch of awkwardness. His nose and his arm are broken but both will heal in hours. Guilt sears inside of her, but more so that the consequences of her actions result in her being able to touch him, and considerably, afterwards. 

*  
He wakes from a drugged sleep and demands spirits. She laughs and gives him water and promises of a feast in his honor. He drags her close, and his healed arm encircles her. “You are a worthy queen,” he says roughly and she realizes how close their faces are. She could move inches and their lips could meet. 

“I do not need your blessing,” she says. “But I am honored by your words.” There is a breathlessness in her voice, a horrible traitorous thing. Still, her stance is firm; a solid shape in his arms, not some simpering weakling. Despite how much she longs to show him the hunger aching in her limbs.

“My queen,” her general interrupts. “It’s Captain America.”

“I’m not taking his calls,” she says, her eyes locked on M’Baku.

“He’s here.”

And that’s when her limbs really begin to shake.

*  
“Buck.” She reaches out to embrace him and finds him warm and alive. An indomitable force pressed against her form. “How’s your arm?” she says, with immediate interest in her investment. In her gift. 

She can hear him smile. Something he does for her and for very few others. “It makes all the girls sigh,” he teases. There’s been few upgrades to it since she installed it; a sign of genius work, genius tech. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t proud of it. Proud of him.

Shuri’s always loved him, just a little. Just enough for it to bite. 

Still, she pulls away. “I’m not coming with you,” she says. “He needs me.”

“I need you,” Bucky says. “The good doctor--” 

Her mouth sets in a grimace. It’s not like she doesn’t want revenge. Vengeance is a dark river that flows through her veins; a family problem. “The good doctor--,” she interrupts. “--is _nothing_ against you and your allies. Let me work on a cure while you work on--”

“You’re my ally,” Bucky says and it breaks her heart. 

“You’re asking me to--”

“--it’s a lot,” he interrupts. “And I wouldn’t ask if we didn’t need you. If I didn’t need you.”

She breathes in unsteadily, and knows he speaks truth. “Tomorrow?”

“Tonight.”

Turning away from him, away from those haunting blue eyes, she speaks like a queen. “Tomorrow.”

*  
Hours are spent in preparation; arrangements with her aides and with her techs. Hours of dizzying details and demands. She grows sharp with every punishing minute, the race to being ready to leave. Ready for battle. Her suit needs minor adjustments, her equipment needs a polish. T’Challa must be visited. Her ministers met with and comforted that this will be a short absence. That she will return and return whole. 

It’s midnight when the doors chime at her private rooms. She hears the Dora argue with a low voice as she approaches, opens the door and her eyes are filled with him. He’s carrying a steaming tray and her stomach flips over with hunger. “I would have forgotten to eat as well,” is his greeting and he makes his way into her room as if he’s lived there a long time. Finds her desk easily enough and places the tray on it. 

Shuri looks at her guards, shows them signs of comfort, and closes the door. Leaving her alone, unguarded, unchaperoned with him. 

She swallows and walks steadily towards the meal. Digs in because she is truly starving and is reminded to say “thank you” mid bite. “You are kind,” she adds after. “Very.”

There’s something inscrutable in his glance. “I’m not. I’m here to dissuade you from going.” 

A sad smile curves on her lips. “I owe them--”

“--nothing. It’s because of them that your brother is--”

“--my brother made his own choices,” she snaps. “And you do remember that Wakanda helps the world now. That is our mission.” 

He stares at her, long and sure. “Send the Dora, send _me_. We cannot lose our queen.”

She huffs. “What good is having power if you don’t use it?” And softer: “Without Stark, they need me. Doom threatens the whole world. I’ve been avoiding it too long.”

Straightening up, he approaches her as if she’s a wounded bird. “Let me be clear. I cannot lose my queen.” How quickly fealty is won. 

There’s a heat that fills her, warms her in forgotten places and she fights the feeling as best she can. “I’ll be fine.”

“Did T’Challa tell you that before he left to fight?” he counters. And he’s closer. 

She shakes off the fear, shakes off the rage. “I’m the Black Panther now,” she says, resolutely and looking up into his eyes. “This is my choice.”

He gazes at her with such a searching look. And then it seems like his entire body deflates. “This is your choice,” he says, and he looks away. 

The loss of him, his intensity and passion, is almost too much. 

Gripping his arm, she pulls him slightly closer. “Don’t--” she tries, unsure of what she’s asking. Just wanting him not to leave. She’s almost delirious with it. “I--” she says intelligently. 

He lowers his head, his mouth near to hers. “I could make you want to stay.”

“It’s not a question of wanting,” she breathes. Breathes him in. Her eyelids flicker close briefly and when she refocuses, his gaze is locked on hers. She’s never felt this charged in her life. 

Then: “I can be convincing.” His voice is quiet; serious as she’s ever heard him. “Or you can tell me to leave.”

She shakes her head, unable to bear it. And that’s when his lips crash against hers.


	2. Chapter 2

The pull of desire; oh, how it overwhelms.

Shuri’s been kissed before, of course, _of course_ , and yet those previous fumblings and spirited exertions have nothing on this ardent embrace. A true marvel. Her hand is holding fast to his arm, keeping her steady, as her mouth opens to let him in. To taste him fully. Exhausted, overtaxed, she feels a little unhinged with this adrenaline rush. This tremendous hunger for him.

There’s a hand at her waist and the other at her shoulder pulling her closer to him, flush against his form. And she’s certain that a decision will have to be made soon: is there further efforts beyond this kiss? Does she want--

And there’s a clench deep in her sex, a yearning that will not be denied. Her decision made, she --

“Help me,” she says, her hands searching his clothing for buttons, hooks. Working to get less leather against them, more skin. He makes a little gasp, a delightful surprise to her, and then takes her hands in his, pulls away a little. Kisses her wrists, both, one after another. A sign of reverence that makes her tremble. And then he works to remove his overwear, to the softer underclothes beneath. She takes the moment to stare, to wonder at him. Breathing in slowly, she considers how warm he will be against her skin. His underclothes are next.

She tugs her sleepwear off, removes the beads at her wrists, her shoes. There’s a pooling of garments on the floor, and she smiles. Not the way she pictured the evening but--

He kisses her then; a reprise of what passed earlier. It’s seductively sweet, with a gentleness she doesn’t expect from him. Now, pressed against him and feeling the soft of his skin and the hard of his muscle, she melts. Her eyelids flicker close, and she longs for more than kisses, more than his--. Or maybe--

“Convince me,” she says, “with your mouth.”

There’s a curve to his lips that rises, a sparkling in his eye. “As you command,” he says and lifts her in a sudden way that takes her breath away. She’s on her back in moments, his hands holding an ankle, pressed against one of her calves. “I’m terribly good at this,” he warns, and she’s thoroughly aware that he might be right.

His nose lingers at her thigh, and he presses in with a sucking kiss. Lingers long enough to mark her there. She sighs out, impatient and more than aroused. When he reaches her most sensitive skin, she gasps; there’s the briefest sensation of his tongue against her clit and then his warm breath against her. She grasps wildly at the bedclothes.

He is, she learns, quite good at this.

She arches her back, overwhelmed by sensation; the press of his tongue, the grip of his hands on her thighs. He’s figured out her needs quick, listening to her sighs and moans; a perfect pressure and rhythm against her. She’s lifted up into the clouds, an effervescent kind of feeling. When she comes, it lingers, filling her from sinew to bone.

That’s when he adjust his position and his fingers slide against her clit, a wet and sensitive mess, before sinking into her sex.

She swears, sharp and violent.

He fucks in until she keens, and that’s when his mouth returns to her clit. The barrage of sensation is relentless, and she’s unable to follow a coherent stream of thought. Unable to do much anything but groan out like some wanton thing. Two fingers become three and she’s writhing against him, stretching out and so utterly gratified.

There’s a cry in her throat, voiced suddenly as she comes. The walls of her sex crashing violently against his fingers, and the pulse of her orgasm, a shockwave, consuming her. She’s thrashing, and it would be embarrassing save for his low, amused chuckle against her skin. He pulls her fingers out, and she can hear him suck on them. Her head leans back and she sighs out. He’s going to be the death of her.

“I can carry on like that for hours, my queen,” he says and she considers it, she really does.

With a tinkling laugh: “I would have you kiss me again,” she says, and he obliges; his form rising and adjusting to press against hers. She’s a live wire and when his mouth, wet from her, presses against her mouth, she feels it all the way down to her toes.

Kissing him feels like a rapture she never considered possible before. His tongue is skilled and his hands are sure against her, holding her close to make her soften or running his fingertips along her skin to make her shiver. He stops, momentarily, to explore her breast with his tongue, his lips, his teeth. The touch is electric, and she is surprised when his ministrations make her come; like this, with his mouth ravishing her nipple.

“Convinced yet?” he whispers and she becomes daring for the first time.

Her hand slides down his side, grips his hip. She looks at him and watches his eyes turn so dark. That’s when she takes his sex in her hand and squeezes. His eyelids shut and he makes such a beautiful sound, rumbling out him. And then, he says: “Please.”

She’s delighted, likes the length and girth of him. Likes the way he writhes in her grip. Her fingers are slightly slick from his pre-come, and she jerks him just a little, just enough. “Please,” he repeats, and she considers what it would be if she just took care of him like this, staring into his eyes and feeling total control.

No, she thinks, I came into this losing my head, wanting to lose my head. Why stop now.

She releases him, listens to the way he sighs, and pushes him onto his back. Straddles him, her sex wet against his hardness. And then she just leans over, kisses his beautiful lips, and rocks there. He whimpers a little, and she grins against his mouth. “You’re welcome to challenge your queen,” she says and juts her hips.

He leans his head back, and she can see his discomfort. Answers it with kisses along his neck. “No,” he says, “no.”

There’s a vise like grip at her waist, two hands tight against her skin and muscle and bone. “I submit,” he says.

It’s enough to make her close her eyes, suck in air. It’s enough to make her adjust so that she can sink down on him; fill herself up with him. Her sex clenches again, and she smiles.

And then she moves.

He’s perfect inside of her, his dick hitting her most hidden sensitive spot as she slams her hips against his over and over in a merciless rhythm. She rides him hard, getting her pleasure with his every thrust. It would be easy, so easy, to close her eyes and ride this out into bliss, but no. She keeps her gaze focused on him, and his eyes never leave hers. It’s shattering; this definitive intimacy.

She realizes that this isn’t a one-off. This isn’t going to be the last time. She’s going to never let him go, not now. Not ever.

Even when he comes, a messy sort of thing, he’s watching her, his mouth open with a series of sharp gasps. Even when he comes, he’s reaching for her, desperate to get her to follow. She does, with his dick softening inside of her, his fingers fluttering so hard against her clit. Finally, she rolls her head back, breaks the gaze, and stares up at the ceiling; her climax lingers and his fingers don’t let up until she’s shuddering. She feels her bones seem to shake in place. It’s wonderful, it’s too much. That’s when she laughs, a sweet and joyous thing.

Kisses follow; kisses and promises to stay.

And a promise requested: “You will be mine now,” she says. “And I will be yours.”

He smiles then and kisses her mouth. “As my queen commands.”

*  
In the morning, there’s a brutal attack on her facility in Oakland; Doombots.

He’s looking over her shoulder as she reads from her tablet, her hands shaking.

“Go,” he says. “Go.”

“But--” she attempts.

He shakes his head. “Go.” And he kisses her shoulder. “Wakanda will be strong.” After a moment, and much softer: “And when you return, I will be here. Waiting.”

She turns her head, and kisses him like it’s the end, like it’s the last time.

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can’t leave it there, can’t leave it at two chapters. Let’s try for more! Your feedback is so cherished!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New tag: sURPRISE guEstS!

She fought him once before, something rough and rude; she will never forget it.

“Child,” Doom had said, but at a distance. Surrounded by his self-made warriors, “Make way for your betters.”

*  
Bucky takes her directly to Oakland. The surviving Wakandans reach for her, open their mouths and speak of what happened and the losses. She promises that aid follows her as she surveys the damage, shocked at what she sees.

“He wanted to hurt us,” she says quietly. “Choosing this spot.” Hurt _me_ , she thinks.

Bucky puts his hand at her back, guides her away. “Let’s hurt him back.”

*  
She sits at the head of the table, and considers her allies present.

Captain America; it’s quite a crucible to live through what Bucky has, and when the need arose at Steve’s death, be strong enough to take on the mantle.

The Falcon; second in command, fiercely loyal and impeccably brave. A key liaison to her Institutes and an inspiration for so many.

Spider-Man; Miles is a joy in every way, and what an ace in the hole. Such a talented young man. She’s so jealous Parker got to him first before the Wakandan Institutes did.

The Wasp; Hope’s impressive with innovations in the lab, but she’s even more impressive in the battlefield with her unusual approach to warfare.

Valkyrie; violence is her language, and her tongue is sharper still. A warrior without a home, and a woman with a thirst for justice. Shuri’s more than a little soft for her.

And then there is--

“Hey, assholes,” Rocket says, loudly. A broad rudeness sharpening the air in the room. “Are we going to get this started or what?”

*  
Valkyrie winces at the proposed solution to their little problem. At their ensconced guest. “Doom will never be stupid enough to believe this, this _lie_.”

“Didn’t he give Thanos an infinity stone?” Miles asks quietly.

Bucky says: “That was complicated.”

“Gotta admit, his legs look great,” Rocket says, shrugging.

The person in question makes a pouting sort of expression before crossing arms over an impressively low cut dress. “I’m your worst best hope, dears,” Loki says sweetly in his woman’s voice.

Shuri thinks: Wakanda would respond with might, fight with honor. M’Baku would offer (did offer) to crush Doom’s face in. These Avengers lean on a calculated cunning now, with the hard fist of their previous power gone.

Shuri also thinks: _What. Kind. Of. Nonsense. Is. This._ (It’s moments before she realizes she said it aloud.)

*  
Doctor Doom, weak when it comes to feminine beauty, takes the bait. Finds the Lady Loki an appealing concept as a potential paramour; what, with his power, his reputation, his history. His lack of a powerful brother in arms reach. Add a pair of perfect breasts and the man who was once Victor is lost.

The trap is set, sprung, and the battle that follows has a rather brutal conclusion.

*  
“Who gets him first,” Miles says, with his own vengeance to consider.

Doom’s mask is already marred with five claw marks, messily made from chin to temple.

“Her,” the Cap says and Shuri shows no mercy.

*  
There’s a certain surprise in how simple the cure is; how to turn a comatose man, a brother, a king, into someone who can smile at her, blink his eyes into the light and tell her he’s proud of what she’s done. She’s shaking so hard looking at the formula that Hope has to take her arm, pull her to a chair and sit her down.

“Can I get you some tea?” she says, looking worried.

“Something stronger?” Shuri asks and then laughs, a tinkling sort of sound. “Tea is fine.”

I can save him, she thinks, and realizes: then what.

*  
She sends messages to her general, to her council. She prepares a carefully written message for M’Baku and then stops, erases it.

She thinks: He knows. He _must_ know.

That’s when, after all this dark and terrible time, she smiles.

*  
Bucky finds her sitting on the roof of Avengers Tower, in her suit and mask. Watching the city. There’s a Wakandan Institute in the distance; she visited it earlier and marveled at the good works being done. Her brother would-- he would be so happy. He _will_ be happy, she thinks fiercely.

Settling in next to her on the concrete, Bucky sits with his arms around his knees. She can see his vibranium hand peak out under his jacket. She smiles; her gift. He’s a quiet sort, she knows this about him. She’s not, normally, but this isn’t a normal time. So they sit in silence for a while before:

“We were so much younger once,” he says finally.

She laughs, a rich chuckle coming from her depths of her belly. “I was,” she says. “You’ve always been an old man.”

He matches her laugh, and she knows that this is special. The Cap doesn’t laugh often, even with those closest. It’s a part of their history; unshakeable and unique. A kind of intimacy. A kind of joy.

“There will be a quinjet ready for you in the morning,” he says.

She nods, appreciative. Wishes herself home already. “Was it hard--,” she says. Unable to finish.

“Yes,” he finishes.

“I--” she starts, because the feeling is presenting itself. Unfortunate and untimely. She twists her head and her mask disappears, and she breathes in the cool air without filtration. “I never-- I’m so sorry about Rogers,” she says. Her hand reaches over, takes his human hand. Squeezes hard. “I know you loved him.” She also knew Rogers loved him back, and in a way that she couldn’t.

He doesn’t quite flinch, but she knows she’s unsettled him. “I miss him,” he says. “Every day.” Unlikely that he’d admit this to others, so she accepts it. And is honored by the confession.

“I hope,” he says, “That _you_ find--” and he stops.

She lifts her hand. “I thought we didn’t talk about my love life, _James_.” And he laughs again.

He leaves it at: “I just hope.”

*  
That night, she dreams of M’Baku; the feel of his touch, the heat of his body, the challenge in his tone. A longing takes hold, and refuses to let her go. It’s not just a lust, but an ache for his presence. The wisdom of his council. The application of his experience. The promise of his protection.

He would not have had a place in this battle, unusual as it was, but she misses him all the same.

*  
She loves Bucky, it’s a fact, but she loves him a lot less when she sees who is taking her back to Wakanda.

“Hey, Kitten,” Rocket says, sitting lazily in the pilot’s chair, “I don’t think you know the story of how I got here, you were such a pup at the time, so let me tell you about the guardians of--” And he continues. And for quite some time.

Looking skyward, she wonders if her ancestors would allow her to silence him, and by any means necessary.

*  
Shuri looks for M’Baku but only sees her Dora when she arrives. Her heart sinks, but she has work to do.

*  
T’Challa’s eyes blink open and he winces at the brightness of light after being in the dark so long. “Sister,” he wheezes out and she grips his hand so tight.

“My king,” she replies, and her eyes are wet.

It takes a moment for him to sit up, to review his surroundings, and to take note of her formal dress and necklace. “We have much to speak of, don’t we?”

She smiles, her heart feeling so bright.

*  
A caravan arrives the next day; furs and Jabari wood and precious stones. An impressive delivery to the crown, and T’Challa looks to Shuri after the ambassador of very few words excuses himself. “The Jabari would never--” he attempts, and he looks confused, intrigued. “Is this--”

“This is for me,” she says, her cheeks burning. “This is a message for me.”

She remembers: _“And when you return--”_

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaand so my m’shuri fic twisted into some shurvengers fic tiemz (FUN) so ANOTHER CHAPTER MUST BE WRITTEN with the eventful, effusive reunion.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay on this! I’ve had so many surprise life events since the last chapter. Glad to be back writing again! <3 Thank you for all your support, dearhearts!

When she arrives, he’s taking an audience with elders of the mining tribe. She keeps to the back, not wishing to disturb the proceedings; her presence would be quite an intrusion.

His eyes find her, however, and while he doesn’t smile with his lips, she notes that his eyes brighten.

Waving his hand sharply, he interrupts the discussion. “In the spirit of our continued reconciliation with Wakanda, the Jabari will allow for the mining of the metal in the southern slopes.” And when they nod and bow in response, he adds: “But only there, no further.”

More nodding, more bowing, sweet honeyed words and the delegation disperses.

M’Baku stands away from his throne and makes a powerful gesture in the air. With sharp grunts and nods, guards and attendants leave; leaving them alone.

“I saw the footage,” he says, his back to her now. “I saw how well you fought for us all. The world is blessed to have you in it.” She watches his hands twist together behind his back, as if nervous. “Things will be different now.”

She takes a step closer, and he turns. “Different?”

“You’re free to galavant with those heroes now that-- that the king, your brother, is awake.”

She stares at him for a moment before: “I’m as free as any of the royal house is,” she says, almost bitter. Her hand is becoming a fist. “I’m not at liberty to do anything I like.” But her surge of anger fades when she sees the ache in his eyes. “I am at liberty,” she adds, gentler, “to love whomever I like.”

“You--” he starts and seems unable to finish. His gaze is hard and piercing before he finally softens. “You are so beautiful to our eyes,” he says. “How I’ve missed the light you bring.”

“I don’t know if I have much light left, I am so tired,” she says with a quiet laugh.

His hand reaches for her. “Then, let me revive you.” And oh, how soon she’s in his arms.

To embrace him, after all that has happened, is a magic she’ll never fully understand. What an addictive act without shame; what a consuming conversation without words. Shuri’s is certain she’ll never tire of his mouth on hers; of the taste of him, of the feel of him. She breathes in slow and loves what she smells; that familiar scent. Makes her feel alive.

“I would have you here and now,” she whispers against his mouth and he nods ever so slight. Kisses her with a gentleness that makes her weak at the knees. It’s surprising; the softness of him compared with how powerful she knows him to be. And when she sees the ardor and the adoration in his eyes, she know she is truly lost.

She leads him to his throne, smiles at the when his eyebrows raise. “You’re playing with fire, beloved. I could get accustomed to this,” he says. Shuri shrugs and begins kissing him with intent, her hand dragging his to cup against her sex.

Adjustments are made, clothing removed, and bare skin meets the cool air before pressing against bare skin. “Shall we do this?” she asks before sinking on top of him, knowing herself to be wet and ready.

“I’m yours to command,” he says, sitting on his throne of precious wood, and his head leans back, offering his neck as she moves, uniting them utterly. She lingers there, unable to stop herself from kissing the skin below his ear, sucking hard on it just to make him whimper, and then her hips jut against his.

There’s something sweet in this lovemaking; made a little awkward and a lot alluring by position and location. It’s not quite comfortable, but it’s delicious all the same. He moans beneath her, and she keens into the air -- not too loud, but enough that the other hears it, absorbs it, knows what they do to each other.

Within moments, she’s burning with white fire; unable to breathe as every sense intensifies. Her body writhes and her sex clenches hard, time and time again. The climax doesn’t linger; it’s sharp, forceful, almost shocking. She muffles a cry, not wanting to share this intimacy with the whole mountain. He chuckles as she slows, not quite able to keep up the mind numbing pace of before.

She feels flush; full with feeling and full of him. It’s enough to go mad as he continues to push into her again, and again. His eyes are on her and he says: “Shall I love you for all time?” When her mouth opens, heart aching for him, he arches back slightly and she feels him come; a brutal and slick feeling that makes her smile. Then: weakly, he whispers, “Yes, yes, I shall.”

The force of feeling overwhelms and his arms are holding her so close, his mouth is busy gasping as he calms. She presses her mouth against his skin, a kiss; it will all be well. “And I shall love you, beloved, and for all time,” she promises, and believes in her promise.

*  
They lay under the canopy of stars and underneath great furs and blankets. He tells her children’s stories to make her sleepy, quiet her mind, soothe her spirit. She sinks into the sensation and sleeps without dreams.

*  
She wakes to find herself watched, his eyes fixed on her as if he can never be satiated. A hungry look that can only be answered with a kiss. It’s an embrace that lingers, that holds firm. Simple kisses mingle with more complex ones; kisses that speak a language that only lovers understand.

His hand wanders, touching her skin with gentle and firm caresses. It’s several moments before he ends up between her legs, rubbing with a certain resolve at her clit. She arches her back a little, not used to pleasure this early, her mind still full of cobwebs. He eases his approach, softens his touch; lets her desire build.

He plays with her. This is not a merciless drive to a climax. No agendas, no plans, no schedule. No demands. Instead: a leisurely, lazy stroll to just _feeling good_.

Shuri doesn’t come for quite some time, but when she does, her eyes widen and her chest fills with air and her skin tingles all over. It’s a beautiful thing; a lengthy sensation of the sweetest kind of pleasure. “Shall I stop?” he whispers, and she looks up at him. Hopes it’s not her queen-voice as she says: “Don’t you dare.”

He whispers, an echo of before: “Then try and get rid of me.”

There’s a shiver that starts in her lower back and radiates outward. “I have no interest in doing so,” she replies.

*  
They forget all about breakfast that morning.

 

 

 

**AN EPILOGUE~**

There’s a new villain on the scene, sliding into their world from an alternate one and wreaking havoc in an attempt to return home.

Bucky awaits them at the hangar in Avengers Tower, his expression tense. “I see this Magneto character bends metal,” she says in greeting, looking somewhat sour at his vibranium arm. “So I’ve worked up a new strategy,”

M’Baku is a step behind her. She senses his laugh before she hears it and feels a softness is her heart for him. There was a loneliness that she felt once, an emptiness within her. She hasn’t felt alone for many years now.

“I always wondered what it would be like to be an Avenger,” M’Baku says, hoisting a weapon made of Jabari wood. “Let’s save the day.”


End file.
